HOME | DD

Description

I tapped my feet in a rhythm of none sense, my anxiety soon going to drive me crazy. They haven't told me a thing since we arrived. Just as the ambulance had pulled into the emergency section of the parking lot, the paramedics had rushed the girl into the hospital. When I had tried to ask questions, a doctor came and firmly said to go to the waiting room and they'll keep me updated.

But not a single nurse or doctor has approached me with news on the girl, and I was getting ready to scream. I have absolutely no patience, especially in high strung situations like this, and my fear was not helping at all.

I gave a frustrated growl and stood, nearly pulling my hair out as I ran my fingers through it. The small waiting room was starting to get smaller, and I paced the length of it, trying to diffuse the crushing feeling of panic. The lady behind the reception desk was giving me annoyed looks, but I ignored her. Shut up, nurse! I shouted in my head. You have no idea what I'm going through!

Rapid footsteps came from the hall next to the desk and a man dressed in green scrubs with a long white coat entered. He had a black stethoscope around his neck and clipboard clutched in his hands. He glanced at the paper pinned to it before looking at me, his face grim. "Mark Fischbach?" His voice matched his expression, dark and brooding.

I literally ran to his side. "Yes, that's me." I said.

The doctors eyes widened and stared at me in horror. "We need to get you to an emergency room immediately!" He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me down the hall, but I wrenched out of his grip.

"Excuse me? What do you mean?" I asked in confusion.

The doctor gestured toward my shirt and reached for me again. I glanced down to see my front covered in blood. I laughed nervously and looked to the doctor. "Oh, uh. Heh, that's not mine. It came from the girl. I was holding her in my lap while the paramedics were coming. How is she? Is she...alive?"

The doctor placed a reasurring hand on my shoulder. "She's alive, though with all that blood she lost, she shouldn't be awake for a couple hours, maybe even a day. But from her brain activity, I'd say she'll be fully aware by the end of this hour."
I sighed and placed my head in my hands as relief threatened to open the waterworks. I looked at the doctor, debating if I should hug him or not. His expression answered me, and I held my hands behind my back.
"And I'm assuming you don't know her name, considering you called her "the girl."

I opened my mouth, then closed it as I realized what he had said. I smacked my forehead with an open palm. "Wow." I muttered. "A girl saves my life and I don't even know her name." I then smiled ruefully at the doctor. "No, sir. I don't know her name."

He sighed again, this time out of exasperation. He cleared his throat and held out a hand. I take it as he says, "Before we go any further, I am Dr. Quilf, head of the surgeon department." He adjusted the wire rimmed glasses on his nose and then continued. "And since you have no idea what this girls name is, I'm assuming you know of no parent or guardian we can contact?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. I barely met her today, and it wasn't even an official meeting. All I know about her is that she is brave enough to throw herself in the path of death to save me, a complete stranger."
Dr. Quilf nodded and scribbled something on his paper before looking back at me. He had a gleam of suspicion in his eyes as well as curiosity.

I nervously ran a hand through my hair and shoved the other in my right front pocket. Scratching the back of my head, I asked, "Is it possible for me to see her?"

He narrowed his eyes, as if calculating, then titled his head toward the hallway he had come down. "She's on the second floor in room B 274. But you don't have that long. Visiting hours end at seven, and it's five thirty."

"Thank you." I said before quickly walking down the hall. I was nearly at the elevator when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I gave a startled yelp and spun to come face to face with Dr. Quilf. I clutched my chest with one hand and pointed a finger at him with the other. "You...could've given me...a heart attack!" I gasped.

The doctor didn't deny nor confirm my statement, just learned in close and said in a low voice, "Mr. Fischbach, there's something...off about this girl. She has no records of any kind; no birth records, shot records, job records. We even searched for criminal records, but came up with nothing. It's as if this girl doesn't exist, and yet here she is, living and breathing."

He stopped and stared at me, waiting for an explanation that I didn't have. How can you have nothing on a person? Isn't everyone born in a hospital? But maybe she wasn't. Maybe her parents didn't want anyone knowing she existed. That's pretty selfish, if you ask me. I held my hands up helplessly. "I know the exact same things about her as you do, maybe you know more than I do. I realize you may be struggling to find information on her, but I'm having my own battle right now. I'm still trying to get over the fact that she was willing to put herself in danger for a complete stranger. "

Dr. Quilf crossed his arms and looked me right in the eye. "Mr. Fischbach, all I'm saying is be careful. I'm not expecting you to go on some detective mystery spree to figure this out. All I'm asking is for you to be wary. We found some strange markings on her back, almost as if she was branded."

"Branded?" I asked, alarmed. Did someone actually claim possession over this girl? How can anyone be so twisted? "You mean like what ranchers do to keep track of their cows and horses?"

Dr. Quilf nodded. "Yes, exactly like that. We can't really be sure, but the burns seem to create a pattern of some sort. This girl may have been through hell and back, which is another reason to be watchful when around her."

I met the doctors severe gaze with one of, I hope, confidence. "Don't worry, Dr. Quilf. I'll be sure to watch my step."

The doctor nodded and stepped away. His eyes never left mine as he stuck out his hand for me to shake.

I took it. "Thank you." With that, I pressed the elevator button and it arrived just seconds later. As I entered, I could feel Dr. Quilf's gaze burn holes in the back of my head. But when I looked back he was already walking away, the doors closing in on his small form. I clenched my hands into nervous fists as the small tin box began its journey upwards.

†††

The girl looked so weak among the white bed sheets, a mountain of pillows keeping her propped up. A steady beeping came from the heart monitor, relieving some of my anxiety. There were some tubes hooked up to her left arm, one filled with insulin, another with blood. As I watched, my heart squeezed with guilt. I'm the one who put her here. This is my fault.

I was standing in the doorway, hesitant to enter. I guess I was afraid I'd disturb her if I were to walk in. I could now see her silky white hair reached well past her waist, for it rested above the blankets tucked around her body. It framed her pale face, giving her a beauty I've never seen in anyone. Her pink lips looked soft as they rested in a natural pout.

I shook my head in horror at myself. Why am I standing here, staring at a girl who looks no more than seventeen, and thinking about her hair and lips? I just put her through probably the worst day of her life. Or maybe this is a normal day for her, considering all that Dr. Quilf told me. Is it possible that her parents were so dark, they told no one about her birth? Could they have wanted some sort of personal servant that they had a child to do their every need?

I shuddered at the thought and leaned against the door frame, still not sure if I should enter. I then noticed the chair to the right of the bed, and decided to go in. I quietly walked over to sit on the edge. This close, I could see her chest rising and falling with every breath.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, thinking of the girl and the information Dr. Quilf had told me. She has no records of any kind... How can you have absolutely nothing on this girl? Don't you need her blood type to give her the correct blood? And what about those burns?

All these thoughts bounced around inside my head, making it hard to focus on one at a time. So I pushed them all to the back of my mind, only to have another replace them. You'll understand soon, Lost One. There're many things about this situation I don't understand, including the name her and the gunman had called me. Lost One. What could that mean? How is it that they both called me that when they seem to have no relationship with each other? And who were the "others" she talked about? Could I really have some sort of secret service bodyguard group following me around that I'm not aware of?

I groaned as I realized, once again, that I don't know her name. She knows mine, which may be because I post just about everything on YouTube. But how is it that we went through so much and I didn't even think to ask her name? Smooth, Mark. Real smooth. So smooth, I'd scrape my finger if I ran it across the surface of your smoothness.

I was about to continue mentally slapping myself, but then the girl made a sound. I had barely caught it, but it was there. I stood quickly, nearly tripping over my own feet as I checked on her.

Nothing had changed, except for the fact that her eyes were open. They were a brilliant clear green, nearly glowing. It was strange how her eyes changed colour. But all thoughts were pushed aside as joy overcame me. She was alive! Though I already knew this, it's one thing to hear it and another to see it.

I smiled. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

The girl smiled back, kind of shy. Her voice was a tad hoarse as she said, "Extremely sore as well as light headed, but fine." Her gaze filled with fear and concern. "And you? Are you okay, Mark? There is blood all over your shirt. Were you shot?"

I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. It's actually your blood. From your bullet wound. I didn't get a chance to go back to my hotel after...well, after everything that happened."

The girl closed her eyes and mouthed something, as if she were saying a prayer. She then met my gaze with eyes full of relief and happiness, leaving me to wonder what that had been about. I cleared my throat. "Well, uh...I'm sorry, but I didn't really, uh, catch your name. What with all the excitement and you being...out for a bit." I finished rather awkwardly, kicking myself yet again for my unsmooth smoothness.

The girl shook her head, a slight grin on her soft lips. "I am called Esme. But there is no need to apologize." Her eyes, which, I noticed, were morphing back to light brown, twinkled with laughter.

"What?" I asked, her good nature helping me get rid of the awkwardness of the situation. "Is there something on my face?" I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to get her to actually laugh. All she's done was smile, and I wanted to know how her laugh sounded with her musical voice. I turned back to her with one of my Wilfred Warfstach expressions. "Did I get it?"

My attempt failed, because all I got was a look of adorable confusion. I nearly laughed out loud, but I didn't want to offend Esme. "Mark, your face is fine. I was simply amused because you thought you had to apologize for something that couldn't have been done in the first place." Esme said.

I blinked, surprised. How old is Esme? She looks seventeen, but she talks like she's much older. And I'm not just gonna be like, "Hey, Esme. How old are you?" Um, creeper much? No, I'll just wait until she's ready to tell me about it, along with all the odd stuff that has happened.

Esme yawned, and I realized she must be tired. Well, you don't say, Mark. She only got stabbed in the hand and shot in the side. I'm sure she can get up and run if she wanted to. No, Esme's been through a lot in the past few hours. And I'm the main reason of it all. I nearly choked on the guilt and sadness that rose up inside me. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you sleep a while? It'll help your body work on healing itself." I said.

Esme nodded and smiled faintly. "I'd like that."

I smiled as well, just to hide the swirl of emotions raging inside me. "Okay, well. I'll be going so you can sleep." I stood and was nearly to the door when her voice stopped me.

"Mark?"

She sounded so scared, so helpless that my heart broke. I turned back and walked to her side, concerned. "Yes?"

Esme looked as if she were a child who's mother had just turned out the lights, unaware of the monsters in the darkness. "Can...can you stay with me?"

I sat down to her right on the bed, taking care not to touch her anywhere but her hand, which I gently placed in mine. Her fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between mine, her palm matching the little crevice of my own. I squeezed it lightly before bringing my gaze up to meet hers. I could feel that odd electricity going through my hand where I held hers, traveling up my arm and throughout the rest of me. I swear I felt it in my soul, my very center, though that probably sounds cheesy. Instead of questioning Esme if she felt it, too, I simply whispered, "Of course."

She smiled, and not just with her pink coloured lips, but with her brown and green eyes as well. "Thank you." She whispered before closing those brilliant eyes. Her breathing slowed into a deep rhythm after a while, but I stayed by her side. I promised her I would.

"No, Esme." I said. "Thank you. For saving my life, for doing something I didn't deserve." I squeezed her hand again, gently, when I thought she was fully asleep, but I guess not. Because I felt a responding pressure from her fingers wrapped around my own, and I grinned. I guess moving to the chair is not an option.

But I didn't mind, because I was able to provide this brave, awe inspiring girl...Esme, protection while she sleeped. Just as she had done for me when that man had pulled a knife, and the other with the gun, and I wondered, again, just who Esme really was.

Description

I tapped my feet in a rhythm of none sense, my anxiety soon going to drive me crazy. They haven't told me a thing since we arrived. Just as the ambulance had pulled into the emergency section of the parking lot, the paramedics had rushed the girl into the hospital. When I had tried to ask questions, a doctor came and firmly said to go to the waiting room and they'll keep me updated.

But not a single nurse or doctor has approached me with news on the girl, and I was getting ready to scream. I have absolutely no patience, especially in high strung situations like this, and my fear was not helping at all.

I gave a frustrated growl and stood, nearly pulling my hair out as I ran my fingers through it. The small waiting room was starting to get smaller, and I paced the length of it, trying to diffuse the crushing feeling of panic. The lady behind the reception desk was giving me annoyed looks, but I ignored her. Shut up, nurse! I shouted in my head. You have no idea what I'm going through!

Rapid footsteps came from the hall next to the desk and a man dressed in green scrubs with a long white coat entered. He had a black stethoscope around his neck and clipboard clutched in his hands. He glanced at the paper pinned to it before looking at me, his face grim. "Mark Fischbach?" His voice matched his expression, dark and brooding.

I literally ran to his side. "Yes, that's me." I said.

The doctors eyes widened and stared at me in horror. "We need to get you to an emergency room immediately!" He grabbed my arm and tried to pull me down the hall, but I wrenched out of his grip.

"Excuse me? What do you mean?" I asked in confusion.

The doctor gestured toward my shirt and reached for me again. I glanced down to see my front covered in blood. I laughed nervously and looked to the doctor. "Oh, uh. Heh, that's not mine. It came from the girl. I was holding her in my lap while the paramedics were coming. How is she? Is she...alive?"

The doctor placed a reasurring hand on my shoulder. "She's alive, though with all that blood she lost, she shouldn't be awake for a couple hours, maybe even a day. But from her brain activity, I'd say she'll be fully aware by the end of this hour."
I sighed and placed my head in my hands as relief threatened to open the waterworks. I looked at the doctor, debating if I should hug him or not. His expression answered me, and I held my hands behind my back.
"And I'm assuming you don't know her name, considering you called her "the girl."

I opened my mouth, then closed it as I realized what he had said. I smacked my forehead with an open palm. "Wow." I muttered. "A girl saves my life and I don't even know her name." I then smiled ruefully at the doctor. "No, sir. I don't know her name."

He sighed again, this time out of exasperation. He cleared his throat and held out a hand. I take it as he says, "Before we go any further, I am Dr. Quilf, head of the surgeon department." He adjusted the wire rimmed glasses on his nose and then continued. "And since you have no idea what this girls name is, I'm assuming you know of no parent or guardian we can contact?"

I shook my head. "No, sir. I barely met her today, and it wasn't even an official meeting. All I know about her is that she is brave enough to throw herself in the path of death to save me, a complete stranger."
Dr. Quilf nodded and scribbled something on his paper before looking back at me. He had a gleam of suspicion in his eyes as well as curiosity.

I nervously ran a hand through my hair and shoved the other in my right front pocket. Scratching the back of my head, I asked, "Is it possible for me to see her?"

He narrowed his eyes, as if calculating, then titled his head toward the hallway he had come down. "She's on the second floor in room B 274. But you don't have that long. Visiting hours end at seven, and it's five thirty."

"Thank you." I said before quickly walking down the hall. I was nearly at the elevator when a hand clamped down on my shoulder. I gave a startled yelp and spun to come face to face with Dr. Quilf. I clutched my chest with one hand and pointed a finger at him with the other. "You...could've given me...a heart attack!" I gasped.

The doctor didn't deny nor confirm my statement, just learned in close and said in a low voice, "Mr. Fischbach, there's something...off about this girl. She has no records of any kind; no birth records, shot records, job records. We even searched for criminal records, but came up with nothing. It's as if this girl doesn't exist, and yet here she is, living and breathing."

He stopped and stared at me, waiting for an explanation that I didn't have. How can you have nothing on a person? Isn't everyone born in a hospital? But maybe she wasn't. Maybe her parents didn't want anyone knowing she existed. That's pretty selfish, if you ask me. I held my hands up helplessly. "I know the exact same things about her as you do, maybe you know more than I do. I realize you may be struggling to find information on her, but I'm having my own battle right now. I'm still trying to get over the fact that she was willing to put herself in danger for a complete stranger. "

Dr. Quilf crossed his arms and looked me right in the eye. "Mr. Fischbach, all I'm saying is be careful. I'm not expecting you to go on some detective mystery spree to figure this out. All I'm asking is for you to be wary. We found some strange markings on her back, almost as if she was branded."

"Branded?" I asked, alarmed. Did someone actually claim possession over this girl? How can anyone be so twisted? "You mean like what ranchers do to keep track of their cows and horses?"

Dr. Quilf nodded. "Yes, exactly like that. We can't really be sure, but the burns seem to create a pattern of some sort. This girl may have been through hell and back, which is another reason to be watchful when around her."

I met the doctors severe gaze with one of, I hope, confidence. "Don't worry, Dr. Quilf. I'll be sure to watch my step."

The doctor nodded and stepped away. His eyes never left mine as he stuck out his hand for me to shake.

I took it. "Thank you." With that, I pressed the elevator button and it arrived just seconds later. As I entered, I could feel Dr. Quilf's gaze burn holes in the back of my head. But when I looked back he was already walking away, the doors closing in on his small form. I clenched my hands into nervous fists as the small tin box began its journey upwards.

†††

The girl looked so weak among the white bed sheets, a mountain of pillows keeping her propped up. A steady beeping came from the heart monitor, relieving some of my anxiety. There were some tubes hooked up to her left arm, one filled with insulin, another with blood. As I watched, my heart squeezed with guilt. I'm the one who put her here. This is my fault.

I was standing in the doorway, hesitant to enter. I guess I was afraid I'd disturb her if I were to walk in. I could now see her silky white hair reached well past her waist, for it rested above the blankets tucked around her body. It framed her pale face, giving her a beauty I've never seen in anyone. Her pink lips looked soft as they rested in a natural pout.

I shook my head in horror at myself. Why am I standing here, staring at a girl who looks no more than seventeen, and thinking about her hair and lips? I just put her through probably the worst day of her life. Or maybe this is a normal day for her, considering all that Dr. Quilf told me. Is it possible that her parents were so dark, they told no one about her birth? Could they have wanted some sort of personal servant that they had a child to do their every need?

I shuddered at the thought and leaned against the door frame, still not sure if I should enter. I then noticed the chair to the right of the bed, and decided to go in. I quietly walked over to sit on the edge. This close, I could see her chest rising and falling with every breath.

I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair, thinking of the girl and the information Dr. Quilf had told me. She has no records of any kind... How can you have absolutely nothing on this girl? Don't you need her blood type to give her the correct blood? And what about those burns?

All these thoughts bounced around inside my head, making it hard to focus on one at a time. So I pushed them all to the back of my mind, only to have another replace them. You'll understand soon, Lost One. There're many things about this situation I don't understand, including the name her and the gunman had called me. Lost One. What could that mean? How is it that they both called me that when they seem to have no relationship with each other? And who were the "others" she talked about? Could I really have some sort of secret service bodyguard group following me around that I'm not aware of?

I groaned as I realized, once again, that I don't know her name. She knows mine, which may be because I post just about everything on YouTube. But how is it that we went through so much and I didn't even think to ask her name? Smooth, Mark. Real smooth. So smooth, I'd scrape my finger if I ran it across the surface of your smoothness.

I was about to continue mentally slapping myself, but then the girl made a sound. I had barely caught it, but it was there. I stood quickly, nearly tripping over my own feet as I checked on her.

Nothing had changed, except for the fact that her eyes were open. They were a brilliant clear green, nearly glowing. It was strange how her eyes changed colour. But all thoughts were pushed aside as joy overcame me. She was alive! Though I already knew this, it's one thing to hear it and another to see it.

I smiled. "Hey. How're you feeling?"

The girl smiled back, kind of shy. Her voice was a tad hoarse as she said, "Extremely sore as well as light headed, but fine." Her gaze filled with fear and concern. "And you? Are you okay, Mark? There is blood all over your shirt. Were you shot?"

I laughed. "Oh, I'm fine. It's actually your blood. From your bullet wound. I didn't get a chance to go back to my hotel after...well, after everything that happened."

The girl closed her eyes and mouthed something, as if she were saying a prayer. She then met my gaze with eyes full of relief and happiness, leaving me to wonder what that had been about. I cleared my throat. "Well, uh...I'm sorry, but I didn't really, uh, catch your name. What with all the excitement and you being...out for a bit." I finished rather awkwardly, kicking myself yet again for my unsmooth smoothness.

The girl shook her head, a slight grin on her soft lips. "I am called Esme. But there is no need to apologize." Her eyes, which, I noticed, were morphing back to light brown, twinkled with laughter.

"What?" I asked, her good nature helping me get rid of the awkwardness of the situation. "Is there something on my face?" I rubbed my face with both hands, trying to get her to actually laugh. All she's done was smile, and I wanted to know how her laugh sounded with her musical voice. I turned back to her with one of my Wilfred Warfstach expressions. "Did I get it?"

My attempt failed, because all I got was a look of adorable confusion. I nearly laughed out loud, but I didn't want to offend Esme. "Mark, your face is fine. I was simply amused because you thought you had to apologize for something that couldn't have been done in the first place." Esme said.

I blinked, surprised. How old is Esme? She looks seventeen, but she talks like she's much older. And I'm not just gonna be like, "Hey, Esme. How old are you?" Um, creeper much? No, I'll just wait until she's ready to tell me about it, along with all the odd stuff that has happened.

Esme yawned, and I realized she must be tired. Well, you don't say, Mark. She only got stabbed in the hand and shot in the side. I'm sure she can get up and run if she wanted to. No, Esme's been through a lot in the past few hours. And I'm the main reason of it all. I nearly choked on the guilt and sadness that rose up inside me. "You must be exhausted. Why don't you sleep a while? It'll help your body work on healing itself." I said.

Esme nodded and smiled faintly. "I'd like that."

I smiled as well, just to hide the swirl of emotions raging inside me. "Okay, well. I'll be going so you can sleep." I stood and was nearly to the door when her voice stopped me.

"Mark?"

She sounded so scared, so helpless that my heart broke. I turned back and walked to her side, concerned. "Yes?"

Esme looked as if she were a child who's mother had just turned out the lights, unaware of the monsters in the darkness. "Can...can you stay with me?"

I sat down to her right on the bed, taking care not to touch her anywhere but her hand, which I gently placed in mine. Her fingers fit perfectly in the spaces between mine, her palm matching the little crevice of my own. I squeezed it lightly before bringing my gaze up to meet hers. I could feel that odd electricity going through my hand where I held hers, traveling up my arm and throughout the rest of me. I swear I felt it in my soul, my very center, though that probably sounds cheesy. Instead of questioning Esme if she felt it, too, I simply whispered, "Of course."

She smiled, and not just with her pink coloured lips, but with her brown and green eyes as well. "Thank you." She whispered before closing those brilliant eyes. Her breathing slowed into a deep rhythm after a while, but I stayed by her side. I promised her I would.

"No, Esme." I said. "Thank you. For saving my life, for doing something I didn't deserve." I squeezed her hand again, gently, when I thought she was fully asleep, but I guess not. Because I felt a responding pressure from her fingers wrapped around my own, and I grinned. I guess moving to the chair is not an option.

But I didn't mind, because I was able to provide this brave, awe inspiring girl...Esme, protection while she sleeped. Just as she had done for me when that man had pulled a knife, and the other with the gun, and I wondered, again, just who Esme really was.